The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1)

by C. S. De Mel

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Content Advisory

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – Kosovo Insurrection

  Chapter 2 – Backlash

  Chapter 3 – Brooklyn’s Finest

  Chapter 4 – Pike Fishing

  Chapter 5 – Moonlighting

  Chapter 6 – Turbulence

  Chapter 7 – Orientation Day

  Chapter 8 – Summer ‘68

  Chapter 9 – The Mountain Temple

  Chapter 10 – Movin’ On Up

  Chapter 11 – Celebrations and Cocktails with a Super-Villain

  Chapter 12 – A Case of the Mondays

  Chapter 13 – Pincer

  Chapter 14 – Fists Blazing

  Chapter 15 – Shocktalk

  Chapter 16 – Varick Strikes Back

  Chapter 17 – New Blood

  Chapter 18 – For the Greater Good

  Chapter 19 – Cooling Wounds

  Chapter 20 – Matters of the Heart

  Chapter 21 – End of a Millennium

  Chapter 22 – Inferno

  Chapter 23 – Aftermath

  Epilogue – Times Long Past

  OMEGA OPS LEGION

  Book 1: The Kasparov Agenda

  C.S. DE MEL

  ***

  Copyright © 2014 by C.S. De Mel

  All rights reserved. First published in digital E-book format in 2014.

  De Mel, C.S.

  Omega Ops Legion Book 1: The Kasparov Agenda

  ISBN: 978-0-9948044-0-2 (Kindle Edition)

  ISBN: 978-0-9948044-1-9 (epub)

  ISBN: 978-0-9948044-2-6 (Paperback)

  www.omegaopslegion.com

  Content Advisory:

  This novel contains violence, coarse language, and mature subject matter. Reader discretion is advised.

  Prologue

  The Omega Ops Legion was formed and unified by the goals to combat injustice and improve the human condition. With roots dating back to ancient times, the Legion has left deep impressions throughout the pages of history. Their great influence stems from being affiliated with some of the brightest minds and most powerful warriors the world has ever known.

  Fall of 1999 -- The North American chapter of the Omega Ops Legion is in the partial command of Bruce Kasparov: A captain in the U.S. Army Special Forces, a guardian within the Legion, and a hero in both circles. Bruce and his allies refocus their efforts on dismantling the crime syndicate situated in their own backyard of New York. As Bruce digs into the belly of the New York City underworld, his ongoing crusade begins to draw the attention of powerful and sinister forces. Bruce may soon find himself in over his head when the largest and most dangerous criminal network in existence sanctions the hit on his life. The power struggle has begun, and all eyes are on Bruce...

  C.S. De Mel Presents:

  Omega Ops Legion:

  The Novel Series

  Book 1: The Kasparov Agenda

  Chapter 1 – Kosovo Insurrection

  Tuesday, September 28th, 1999

  Kosovo, 3:00 p.m.

  Goran Petrovic screamed as loud as a man could with a hood over his head and a dirty rag stuffed in his mouth. The Yugoslavian diplomat was on his knees in total darkness. He fruitlessly struggled against the binding around his hands, for it was the only thing he could do. The more he twisted and squirmed, the worse the rope chafed his wrists. But he did not care. His sense of time had completely dissolved. He might have been a prisoner for a few days or a few weeks. Either way, he was well past his breaking point. A soldier cursed angrily while walking behind Petrovic and rammed the butt of his rifle down on his neck. As he hit the floor, Petrovic stopped screaming and lost consciousness.

  A rogue military squad surrounded six bound-and-gagged captives: five Yugoslavian diplomats and an Albanian news reporter. The man responsible for the hostage situation was a former commander in the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA), Zamir Ristani.

  Ever since the KLA was formally demilitarized a week ago, Zamir felt he no longer had a place amongst the organization. As far as Zamir was concerned, the KLA lost its drive when it was restructured into the Kosovo Protection Corps. But there were those that were still loyal to the original mission to separate from Yugoslavia and secure Kosovo’s independence. Zamir was adept at seeking out these individuals and they were more than ready to follow his lead.

  The rogue commander sat behind a heavy oak desk, patiently waiting for someone. They were situated in a newly built hotel that was owned and operated by several of Zamir’s friends in high places. The hotel was not yet open to the public, but it was open to Ristani. There was a knock at the door. “Identify yourself!” Zamir ordered.

  A response came from the other side: “Arben Bardha...”

  “Enter.”

  A sullen-faced man with thinning black hair walked into the room. Zamir studied him suspiciously: the man appeared cold, clammy, and was visibly shaking. The two men began to converse in Albanian. “Did you acquire the warheads?” Zamir questioned. Arben forced himself to look at Ristani. His knees began to buckle as he stuttered inaudibly. “Where is the rest of your team? Out with it!” Zamir barked impatiently.

  Arben’s lip trembled. “Forgive, sir...” Zamir’s eyes grew wide as a small device slipped out from Bardha’s sleeve.

  “We are betrayed!” Zamir screamed. He dived behind his desk, just before the device struck the tile. A brilliant flash saturated the room, instantly blinding everyone exposed. The soldiers yelled in panic, pointing their guns wildly in all directions.

  Military personnel stormed the room. “Drop your weapons! Drop your weapons!” Within moments, Zamir’s soldiers were knocked to the ground and disarmed by the intruders: a joint task force consisting of soldiers from the NATO appointed Kosovo Force (KFOR), and the United States Army. Amongst the soldiers was Captain Bruce Kasparov of the U.S. Army Special Forces. He was of Russian-Armenian descent and possessed a broad frame, dark hair, and a swarthy complexion. He swiftly scanned the room.

  “Where is Ristani...?” Bruce felt a strong sense of foreboding.

  From behind the desk, Zamir Ristani leapt up and grabbed a hostage around the neck to shield himself with: the news reporter. He jammed his handgun into her back.

  “Let her go!” a KFOR soldier demanded.

  “I will kill her!” Zamir yelled defiantly in Albanian. “Surrender your weapons!” The news reporter’s screams of terror were muffled by her gag.

  Bruce Kasparov looked at the hostage: couldn’t be more than twenty-five, he thought to himself. Zamir stood safely behind his human shield while he surveyed the soldiers that surrounded him: they were still reluctant to lower their weapons. And then Zamir’s eyes locked onto Bruce. He blinked. “Is this...Bruce Kasparov?” He spoke English with a heavy accent. Bruce exchanged glances with his fellow soldiers, uncertain what to make of this.

  “You know me?” Bruce questioned.

  Zamir laughed. “But of course! You are the world famous Bruce Kasparov! Your exploits are legendary, although likely exaggerated. Far too fanciful to be taken at face value.” Zamir nodded, apparently agreeing with himself. “Yes, criminals all over the world speak of you...fear you.” He stopped talking. Bruce waited—Zamir appeared to be staring into Bruce with delight.

  “Let her go, Ristani,” Bruce warned.

  “This lovely young girl? No-no, not yet. She is an important piece to this game. Furthermore, she insisted on scurrying around my benevolent operation like a mouse.”

  Bruce was finding it difficult to stomach this man. “Benevolent operation? You’re nothing more than a terr
orist.”

  Zamir laughed heartily. “I am no terrorist. I am a freedom fighter, much like yourself.”

  Bruce winced at the thought of being compared to Ristani. “I hardly consider holding hostages and procuring high-end explosives the acts of a freedom fighter.”

  “So these are acts of a terrorist, then?” Zamir scoffed. “Your kind have no idea what terrorism or a terrorist is. Your country and its allies labelled the KLA a terrorist organization just a year ago, but look at what’s unfolded over the past month: NATO sided with the KLA and bombed everything in the name of peace. That is the American way, is it not? Bomb everything until there is peace. How many innocent civilians were lost in the NATO strikes? Hundreds? Thousands?” Bruce Kasparov’s silence brought a smug smile to Zamir’s face. “Either way, it’s just collateral damage. And these people I hold in my custody can be considered just that: collateral damage.”

  “Not a chance, Ristani. No one will die here today—except maybe you.”

  Zamir bore no acknowledgment that he had heard Bruce and suddenly changed tack. “I was always very interested to meet you, Bruce Kasparov. I have heard of you being described as something superhuman. You can increase your strength tenfold, but with a thought. Flames engulf your very body...and you channel this magnificent energy through your fingertips to strike down those who oppose you...with fiery justice.” The news reporter whimpered through her gag as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Shut up, woman!” Zamir roared, digging his gun into her back. Bruce Kasparov squeezed the handle of his own gun, but kept his trigger-finger steady. Zamir continued: “Nature…natural laws… They have no claim over you, do they? To soar through the skies like a god...you can.” He smiled. “Tell me, are these stories true?” Zamir interrogated Bruce with his eyes. “Or just rubbish weaved together by the delusional brigands that have suffered your reprisal?”

  “Let—her—go,” Bruce instructed once more through gritted teeth.

  Zamir continued to smile and nod, as if reaching an understanding with himself about the situation. “Why do you even bother carrying a gun? Hmm?” He was laughing maniacally now. Chills ran down the news reporter’s spine as Ristani’s cold laugh rang in her ears. In an instant, Zamir regained his composure and was now staring at Bruce, with the utmost focus. No one else in the room seemed to matter to him. “Show me your power.”

  “The whole complex is surrounded. Last chance to surrender,” Bruce threatened.

  Zamir shook a finger at him. “No-no-no, last chance for you. If I am to be taken in by the great Bruce Kasparov, I want to see him at his full fury.” He waved him forward, but Bruce stood his ground. Zamir frowned. “Others have witnessed your true strength... Am I not a significant enough threat to draw this out of you, Kasparov?”

  Bruce gauged the proximity of Zamir from his hostage. There’s no clear shot yet. Zamir’s gun was still firmly pressed into her. Hiding behind the news reporter, all that was visible of Zamir was his face from the eyes up.

  “Three seconds!” Zamir suddenly yelled out. “Then she dies!” He began the count. “One!” The soldiers looked to Bruce, anxiously waiting for a signal on what to do. “Two!”

  Bruce raised his hand and threw his gun to the ground. The soldiers behind Bruce did the same. Zamir stopped counting and looked at Bruce expectantly. “Okay, Ristani. You want to see my power? Fine. Just remember, you asked for this. And like you, I’m going to give you three seconds...and then you’re mine.” The room fell silent with all eyes locked on Bruce. He inhaled deeply...

  “One!” Bruce placed his arms behind his back and watched Ristani intently. “Two!” Zamir was completely enthralled. He lowered his gun barrel to the floor and raised his head a bit higher to get a good look. Behind his back, Bruce pressed a button on an electronic transmitter attached to his belt...

  Outside the hotel, the area was in complete lockdown, with soldiers posted at ground level and atop the hotel roof. Arthur Finch and three other soldiers held positions along the roof. Arthur was a U.S. Army expert marksman: born and raised in Australia, now living in the United States. He was in Staff Sergeant Frank Cormac’s squad, a soldier who was in the building with Bruce Kasparov at this very moment. One of the soldiers questioned Arthur: “For a guy that’s an international terrorist, ‘hiding’ in the penthouse suite of a five-storey hotel… Isn’t that a little vain?”

  “These types usually are,” Arthur replied. A device suddenly began to beep on Arthur’s belt. “The signal!” He was already harnessed to the roof and had his silenced handgun drawn. Firmly grasping his line with a gloved hand, he rappelled down to the penthouse window. He immediately targeted Zamir Ristani and fired.

  The window of the penthouse shattered. Zamir screamed out as a bullet entered into the back of his right arm. His hand clenched in pain, causing Zamir to discharge his pistol into the floor. Bruce and Frank charged: Frank safely guided the hostage out of harm’s way while Bruce punched Zamir square in the jaw and effectively disarmed him. Ristani toppled to the ground, but with his uninjured arm, pulled out a six-inch blade from inside his boot. While crawling on the floor, he swung the knife wildly at Bruce’s chest. Bruce easily dodged the blade, locked Zamir’s arm in his own, then twisted as he rolled down onto the tile. Zamir yelled out in pain and immediately dropped the knife. He was no longer able to put up resistance. Bruce got to his feet and picked up Zamir by his uniform collar. Arthur cheered on Bruce while he watched the entire scene unfold, hanging from his line.

  Zamir coughed. “You didn’t…show me your power...”

  “Like you said—” Bruce leaned in so that only Zamir could hear him: “You’re too insignificant.” Zamir stared. He was prepared to stomach Kasparov’s victory, but not his impudence. In a fit of rage, he spat at Bruce, who instantaneously raised his forearm to prevent the spit from striking his face. Bruce watched the saliva dribble down his uniform sleeve. “Not smart,” growled Bruce. He proceeded to clean his sleeve on Zamir’s face as Zamir screamed profanities at him. Bruce tore off the flag from Ristani’s uniform. “You’re a disgrace to your country, Commander.”

  ***

  One week later.

  New York City, 6:00 p.m.

  The news teams and press were gathered amongst hordes of citizens at City Hall. The New York City mayor stood behind the podium at the base of the steps and was ready to address the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, people of the press: We are gathered here today to honor the brave men and women who fought valiantly overseas to keep the peace between Kosovo and Yugoslavia. Albanian extremists threatened international security by their actions and brought about a situation that demanded our intervention—to save lives and prevent the continuation of the war. Speaking on behalf of the American forces today is an officer in the U.S. Army Special Forces and a decorated war hero, Captain Bruce Kasparov!”

  Bruce stood up from his seat and walked towards the podium to raucous cheering. He shook the mayor’s hand, where mutual thanks was given, then proceeded to take his place behind the podium. Bruce looked over the restless crowd and raised his hand, waiting for silence to fall. It happened surprisingly quickly under Kasparov’s commanding presence. He cleared his throat and addressed the crowd:

  “Zamir Ristani’s attempts to destabilize the current peace efforts between Yugoslavia and Kosovo were unsuccessful and a backslide into war was averted.” Bruce paused, and a sea of people joined him in rapt silence. “Ristani and all of his lieutenants have been apprehended.” The crowd erupted in applause upon hearing these words.

  “Way to go, Captain!” someone cried out amongst the cheering and clapping.

  Bruce waited until the applause died down, then continued: “The KFOR and U.S. military have thwarted Ristani’s efforts to acquire weapons of mass destruction. His use of hostages and terrorism to pursue his own political agenda was a failure. I’m proud to say that the hostages have been freed. All weapons that were in Ristani’s possession have been confiscated, and no casualties were suffered
in bringing down Ristani at his penthouse.” Cheers rang out from the crowd, which quickly turned into a standing ovation.

  The mayor stepped back on stage, joining Bruce by the podium. “Thank you very much, Captain. The floor is now open to questions.”

  Bruce knew this was coming, but his gut reaction was still the same. Holy crap. It was like he was handing out food to starving dogs: loud incessant barking and no shame. Bruce found the entire scenario rather amusing. He pointed at reporters and began to take their questions, one by one:

  “Captain! Now that Ristani has been captured, is there any need for U.S. troops to remain in Kosovo?”

  “A large portion of U.S. troops have, in fact, been pulled out of Kosovo, seeing as the threat level has been greatly reduced. We will gradually extract the rest of our forces over the following months as order is restored. However, there are still remnants of the KLA at large who can pose a threat—and there is always room for imitators.”

  “Captain! Captain!” A short man with dirty-blonde hair and a red baseball cap pushed through the crowd. He hardly looked like a reporter. He raised his video camera to the podium with one hand and a microphone with the other. “There have been rumors you are part of the secret society known as the Omega Ops Legion; is there any truth to this?” Bruce looked down curiously at the man.

  “Please keep the questions on topic, thank you,” the mayor interjected.

  The short man, however, continued to press the subject: “But is it not true that the Legion was involved with the Kosovo efforts and capturing Zamir Ristani?”

  The mayor looked disgruntled and was ready to tell off this young punk, but Bruce cut him off: “It’s alright, Mr. Mayor. I’ll field this one.” Bruce looked down at the man. “What’s your name, friend?”